


in the dead of night

by vanillabean786



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Crack, Deviates From Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:55:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28952283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillabean786/pseuds/vanillabean786
Summary: Greg sees something he shouldn't. Tom shows up when he's needed least. Roman wins Most Unhelpful.Also, Greg's body is provided with some sustenance.
Relationships: Gerri Kellman/Roman "Romulus" Roy, Greg Hirsch/Tom Wambsgans
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	in the dead of night

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, this doesn't fit anywhere in canon. Potentially post-S2.

Greg didn’t mean to spy. He really had just wanted to search all of the rooms to find the one he’d left his coat in, and if he overheard a phone call that sounded important and, as a result, opened the door to that room just a little bit to see if anything important was going on during this searching process, then that was just being in the right place at the right time. 

And if what he saw had shocked him so thoroughly that he simply could not look away for several minutes, then that was his naïveté when it came to worldly matters that was the problem, not some malicious desire to spy.

Because after all, who wouldn’t be scandalized after seeing Roman Roy with his hand on his dick sitting on a communal couch talking on the phone with a person who he referred to as _Gerri_? 

Who could’ve been anyone, really, even a “Jerry.” Except the topic of conversation transitioned from Waystar to sex without any in between, and as far as Greg knew, there was no Jerry other than Gerri at Waystar. 

So he gently shut the door and stared at it. It was too late at night for this, and he’d assumed everyone else was fast asleep when he’d begun searching for that coat. Which seemed to be the case, except for the fact that it clearly _wasn’t_ , since both Roman and Gerri were also awake.

He covered his mouth with his hand to keep in any fear and/or confusion noises deep, deep inside, leaning his forehead against the wood paneling on the closed door. He breathed in and out, trying to realign his chakras, or at the very least, understand anything he just saw.

His breathing exercises were cut short by a hand on his shoulder, tugging him away from the door until he was face-to-face with Tom. “Ooh, _Greg,_ ” he said, his voice pitched two tones too high. “Are you meeting up with Marcia for a quick little midnight rendezvous? I hope you know that if she only calls you at night, then well, sh—” 

Greg slapped his hand over Tom’s mouth before Roman or anyone else in this deviant household could hear him. Tom promptly licked it. “Roman’s in there,” Greg whispered. “We have to use our indoor voices.”

Tom pulled Greg’s hand off his mouth. “What, is he blowing his personal trainer in there or something?”

“He’s, well, you know,” Greg said, making a rough up-and-down motion with his fingers curved. “On the phone with Gerri.”

“That hand motion doesn’t usually translate to _on the phone_ , Greg. That’s the jacking-it hand motion. On-the-phone is like this,” Tom said, putting his thumb up to his ear and sticking his pinky down. 

“Uh, yeah, he’s sort of doing both,” Greg said. “I think, I think it might be…” 

“Might be _what_?” Tom moved forwards, pushing Greg away to peek inside, but Greg quickly shoved him back. “What is up with you, man?” Tom said, shoving Greg right back.

“I think they’re having, uh, phone sex.” Greg cringed hearing the words leave his mouth, but they worked. Tom froze, his attention fully on Greg.

“Roman and Gerri?”

“Uh, yeah,” Greg said. “From what it sounded like.”

“Roman is _masturbating_ ”—Tom repeated Greg’s earlier hand gesture—”because of a phone call which he’s having with _Gerri_? Gerri from Waystar Royco? Our Gerri?”

“That’s–that’s what I saw and heard, yeah,” Greg said, standing up straighter and keeping his voice steady. He was shaken up, too, but he knew he’d have to hold it together for the both of them if this tidbit gave Tom a mental breakdown.

“With Gerri.” Tom stared at Greg in silence for a moment, his face wiped clean of any emotional response, before digging his fingers into Greg’s elbow and pulling him down the hallway.

“That’s a little–that’s a little rough, Tom,” Greg whispered, trying to quiet the landing of his feet on the creaky wood. Tom didn’t stop or let go until they were in the dining room area.

“Uh, so now what?” Greg said. 

“We drink!” Tom opened a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of what Greg assumed to be very expensive whiskey. “And you tell me exactly what you saw with as much and as little detail as possible.”

“Uh, I’m not sure, exactly, how I’d do both at the same time.”

“You tell me what you heard them say, you leave out the length of Roman’s dick.” Tom took two glasses and poured the amber liquid inside of them, before sliding the one with less in it to Greg.

“Oh. Uh, well, I don’t actually remember the, uh, specific sentences.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “But you remember the length of Roman’s dick, I’m guessing.”

In Greg’s defense, this was a salient piece of information that had remained constant throughout the time period during which he was there, while the dialogue had changed pretty frequently. “Um, well, it was just all really fast. And confusing. But, uh, it was definitely mostly Gerri speaking when it came to the sex stuff.”

Tom snorted. “I find that a little hard to believe.”

“Well, I couldn’t hear all of it,” Greg said. “But what I did hear, sounded pretty normal. Except meaner.”

“Like how?” Tom said, sipping more slowly now that he’d calmed down. 

“Um, I can’t really remember anything specific.” Greg fidgeted with his hands, not sure where to go next without sounding completely delusional.

“What about if I feed you?” Tom said, his eyes searching Greg’s face.

“What?”

“Food? I’m assuming you went snooping because you were hungry,” Tom said. He snorted. “And then because you were thirsty.”

“Uh, that would be nice, then. I think.” Tom ushered him out of the dining room into the kitchen, making Greg bring his untouched glass with him. He pulled open cabinets until he found one with snacks instead of dishware, and grabbed a gold-embossed box of crackers. Greg reached for it, but Tom stopped him.

“Ah-ah. Details first,” Tom said. He pushed Greg’s glass over the counter to him. “And drink some of this, first, so your throat doesn’t get too dry.”

Greg wasn’t sure if this math added up, since he didn't even eat anything yet, but his throat _was_ dry, so he took a few gulps. “Well, Gerri definitely called him a degenerate little boy at one point, so. I thought that was a neat little context clue that brought the whole thing together.”

Tom stared at him for a few seconds, and Greg wasn’t sure what was going on in his head. Or perhaps he’d just broken Tom’s mind. “Changed my mind!” Tom said, shaking his head slightly to snap himself out of his mental furor. “I think that might be enough detail for tonight. But you should definitely jot down some notes in your diary tonight for future reference.” 

“So, uh, do I get a cracker?” Greg asked. He didn’t realize how hungry he was until Tom had brought it up. 

“Of course, Greg,” Tom said, opening the box. “And if you really didn’t want to share the...lurid details, you could have just taken one of the other boxes in the cupboard.”

Greg didn’t realize that was an option. He’d imagined Tom would have tried to guard the cupboards in the way a basketball player might if Greg had attempted to do that very thing, leading them to create enough noise to wake up everyone else within a fifty meter radius, and leaving the both of them in the uncomfortable situation of having to explain what was going on without providing the Gerri/Roman context.

“Of course, Tom,” Greg said, and waited for his cracker.

“This is big, Greg,” Tom said, handing a cracker to Greg before popping one in his mouth. It really just looked and tasted like a Ritz cracker to Greg, except with a logo stamped on it that probably cost a dollar extra per cracker.

“Yeah, I guess,” Greg said, his mouth full of whatever the opposite of generic-brand Ritz crackers was.

“No, Greg, this is a game-changer. Logan would be furious if he found out about this. Not even because of the weird sexual dynamic,” Tom said. “This completely changes the power structure of the board. He can’t consult Gerri on anything if she has some sort of soft spot for Roman.”

“Yes, this is, uh,” Greg replied. “This is huge.”

“This is bigger than Monica Lewinsky, Greg. Imagine like, if Kendall was fucking Frank.” Greg’s eye twitched. “Or if Shiv was fucking—” Tom paused, clearing his throat. “Well, if I was fucking…” 

Greg nodded. “Fucking?” 

“Okay, if you were fucking, uh,–”

“If we were fucking?” Greg asked, his eyebrows knitting together. 

“Jesus Christ, Greg,” Tom said. “Yeah, sure, why not. How fucked would it be if I’d come in here and took your virginity on top of this granite countertop? _That’s—_ ”

“Uh, well, I’m not a virgin,” Greg said. “So—”

“That’s the only thing wrong you heard in that statement?” Tom asked. “No problems with the rest of it?” Greg stammered out disconnected syllables. “Okay, how would Logan feel if he came in here and saw me pounding your loose hole on top of the counter? Does that make you feel better? More factually correct now?”

“I don’t–I don’t have a, uh, loose, um,” Greg said. He’d misunderstood that a bit. “I guess I’m a gay virgin.”

“That’s what I assumed, Gregory,” Tom said. “That’s what we all assumed when we first met you.” Greg didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded. “The point is: this is big news, and you have to keep your mouth shut so we can figure out how to get the best mileage out of this before someone else tells Logan.” He downs the rest of his drink and slams the glass down, taking a deep breath. “And tell me this, Greg.”

“Yes?”

“Did you assume _you’d_ be the one taking _me_ on top of the kitchen counter? Because I can assure you, that would never happen. Never in a million years.”

When the image pops into Greg’s head, his knees wobble a bit, and he rests more of his weight onto the elbow he has on the counter. “Uh, no, I was just. I was just confused about, uh, the rest of the analogy, I think.”

“Good,” Tom nods sharply. “If anyone was fucking anyone on top of the dining table, _my_ cock would be going in _your_ orifices, and don’t forget it.” He turned around and opened the hallway door. “I’m going to go to my bedroom and sleep with my _wife_ .” Greg wasn’t sure if he meant sleep with or _sleep_ with, but he suspected it was the former.

Greg watched him walk out in silence, sinking his head into his hands and trying to go over the conversation in his head one more time to understand what the _fuck_ just happened. He didn’t have much time to process, because Roman almost immediately walked into the kitchen from the dining room entrance. 

“Keep your head up, champ,” he said, sidling up to Greg at the counter and stealing one of his crackers. “I’m sure you’d get a blowjob out of him the very least if it really _came_ down to it. And you already know that he’d swallow.”

Greg couldn’t tell how much he’d heard, but if that was all Roman had to say, he probably hadn’t noticed Greg earlier, which relieved him too much for him to be upset about the Tom situation. “Up late?” he asked.

“Just doing some work,” Roman said. “Getting business taken care of. Solving an issue that was driving me crazy all week.”

“Uh,” Greg said. “Same. Work talk, I guess.”

Roman laughed, tilting his head down a bit and glancing at the tented fabric of Greg’s pants. He grabbed Greg’s hard cock through his pajamas and _tugged_ , and Greg had to bite down on his lip to hold in his moan, but that did nothing to help with the flush that rose on his face. “You might have to stay up a little longer to work on that problem, bud,” Roman said, before getting on his tiptoes to ruffle Greg’s hair. “Good night!” He walked out through the door he came in through, and Greg didn’t move a muscle for the next five minutes.

When he got back to his room, without his coat, his phone told him it was already past two in the morning. He’d have to sleep on it. Maybe he’d dream up a solution and his problems would be fixed in the morning. 

  
Or maybe he’d take a long, hot, relaxing shower and think about what Tom said while solving the problem himself. It _would_ be more proactive.


End file.
